


hallowed be thy name

by crunchrapsupreme



Series: girl scouts, greek gods, and car washes [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Emotional Sex, M/M, Religion Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchrapsupreme/pseuds/crunchrapsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh,” Jean manages, voice strained as he remembers all of the places that Marco’s mouth has been on him, all the noises they shared and all of the sweat and spit they’ve swapped, and <i>oh</i>. </p><p>“Oh my god,” Jean continues brokenly, and his eyes widen as he leans back further against the couch. “Holy shit, I’m sleeping with the priests’ son. Holy mother of god - wait, shit, can I say that? Fuck, oh my <i>god</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	hallowed be thy name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweggscellent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweggscellent/gifts).



> this is once again for my precious pumpkin nat <3
> 
> hello slight angst in this otherwise very smutty, but otherwise happy au
> 
> \----------------------
> 
>  
> 
> _Hebrews 12:7_  
>  _Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father?_

Marco’s house is pristine.

There’s a sharp, clean smell, and the couch in the living room is a beige leather. Probably real, too, not like the faux leather of the couch in Jean’s basement that his grandma gave him. It squeaks quietly when he seats himself on it, and when Marco comes back from the kitchen, two glasses of cola in his hands, Jean tries not to fidget.

“Thanks,” he says as Marco hands him a drink, and he takes a cautious sip, stupidly terrified of accidentally spilling a single caffeinated droplet on the couch or on the soft tan carpet he’s currently digging his toes into. He lets his eyes linger around the room, spotting many various sized crosses and bible verses along the walls. Near the stairs, there’s a series of pictures, and Jean recognizes a younger Marco, going through communion. He’s grinning, dimpled cheeks flushed with pride as he poses in his fancy clothes, and Jean shifts a bit as he takes another drink.

“When, uh. When are your parents going to be home, again?”

“Not until Sunday evening,” Marco replies, knocking his knee softly against Jean’s.

“Did they just decide to go out of town for the weekend or something? Wife and husband bonding time, or whatever?” Jean asks, smiling a bit as he takes another gulp from his cup.

“Uh, actually, my dad got invited to do a guest preaching a few towns over, and my mom just tagged along.”

Jean blinks. “A guest…. preaching?”

“Yeah,” Marco says, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck, and if Jean isn’t mistaken, he looks a little flustered, which is a strange but not unpleasant look for him. “My dad’s the priest, actually.”

“Oh,” Jean manages, voice strained as he remembers all of the places that Marco’s mouth has been on him, all the noises they shared and all of the sweat and spit they’ve swapped, and _oh_.

“Oh my god,” Jean continues brokenly, and his eyes widen as he leans back further against the couch. “Holy shit, I’m sleeping with the priests’ son. Holy mother of god - wait, shit, can I say that? Fuck, oh my _god_.”

Marco snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “It’s not _that_ big of a deal.”

“It’s a _huge_ deal!” Jean exclaims, but before he can say anything else on the matter, a pair of lips are pressed to his own, cutting off any train of thought he had. He makes a quiet noise against Marco’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut, and Marco finally pulls away just enough to whisper,

“I’m sure Father Bodt is having a fantastic time this weekend, so we should probably do the same, yeah?”

Jean shivers, nods slowly, and Marco grins, pulling back and setting his drink down onto the coffee table.

“What do you feel like watching?” Marco asks, leaning back against the couch, his thigh pressed heavy and warm against Jean’s.

Jean shrugs. “I’m not picky, you choose.”

When Marco fails to reach out and grab the remote, instead staying carefully still, eyes boring into the side of Jean’s head, Jean finally lets himself glance over, biting his lip when his gaze meets Marco’s eager grin.

“Okay,” Marco says, gently removing the cup from Jean’s hands and placing it onto a coaster on the coffee table in front of them. “I’ll choose.”

The couch squeaks again when Marco tugs Jean forward gently, a hand warm at the back of his neck, and Jean makes a surprised noise against Marco’s mouth, arms immediately raising to wind around Marco’s neck as Marco carefully pushes Jean onto his back. Marco cups the side of Jean’s face with one hand, the other resting against the back of the couch for balance, and Jean sighs through his nose.

A fuzzy, warm feeling swims through his blood, because this…. this is different. This isn’t like the desperate, heated kisses they’ve shared before. This isn’t urgent and lustful, a promising for something more R-rated in the next few minutes. The way Marco’s lips are moving against his slowly, the way Jean can’t help but grin against his mouth and nudge their noses; it’s affectionate. Relaxing. It’s just _kissing_ , and though there’s still that small undertone of warmth beginning to pool in his groin, that’s really the last thing he’s thinking about right now.

God, he feels _giddy_ , and when Marco pulls back, a small smile adorning his lips as he stares down at Jean before squishing himself into the space between the back of the couch and Jean’s side in order to sling an arm around his waist, Jean tells himself that the trembling feeling coursing through his nerves is just from the brief makeout session.

Marco leans over Jean to grab the remote off the table, and he flips on the television, settling back against Jean’s side and turning the shorter teen a bit so Marco can properly spoon up behind him. It’s slightly difficult with the small area they have to occupy on the couch, but they manage, Jean’s back pressed firmly against Marco’s chest, Marco’s chin hooked over Jean’s shoulder as he flips through the channels.

“You know,” Marco says after a few moments, his breath warm against Jean’s ear. “You could just stay the night, if you wanted?”

Jean bites his lip, and he tentatively links his fingers with Marco’s, hugging the arm around his torso, and when Marco squeezes his fingers gently, Jean smiles and says,

“Yeah. I’ll stay.”

\--

Jean’s woken up to the sound of hushed, frantic arguing, and he squints his eyes as he slowly sits up, leaning against the headboard and running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. The blankets are warm as they pool around his waist, and Jean’s pretty sure he could fall asleep again if he tried, but the room is empty save for him. Marco must be in the hallway, thinking he’d try and not wake Jean up, but Jean’s a pretty light sleeper, unfortunately.

The door clicks open after a few moments, and Marco looks defeated, clad in only boxers. He still has pillow marks on his face, and Jean’s eyes grow fond when Marco shuffles over to the bed, immediately crawling up and curling against Jean’s side.

It’s sweet, and Jean’s hand trembles only a little bit when he reaches up to bury his fingers in Marco’s hair, says, “Was that your dad?”

Marco hums against Jean’s neck, but otherwise stays quiet, and if he doesn’t want to talk about it, Jean’s not going to pry. He’s not exactly sure what they argued about, but he can’t see being the son of a priest being a very easy thing.

“It’s just,” Marco says after a few minutes of silence, “I wish he’d look at me as his son, not as someone to fucking _preach_ to. There’s no, ‘Hey son, how was your day?’, just a stupid, ‘Did you remember to pray your rosary today?’” Marco takes in a deep breath, and it’s then Jean realizes his shoulders are shaking slightly. “I just wish he loved me like a son so I could love him as a father.”

 He hands ball into fists, and his breath is warm and moist as it puffs out against Jean’s collarbone, and Jean doesn’t know what else to do but to reach up, tilt Marco’s chin up with his finger, and press their lips together. It’s not lustful or heated, it’s just mouths pressed against each other, breathing the same air. Marco lets out a shaky breath, and the next thing Jean knows, Marco’s on top of him, straddling his waist, clutching his shoulders and kissing him as if his life depends on it.

Jean lets out a quiet ‘ _mmph_ ’ against his lips, but soon his hands find their way to Marco’s hips, thumbs rubbing the skin softly, and Marco’s mouth is wet against his, warm and perfect, and Marco’s rocking down on him, rolling his hips erratically. Jean groans, surprised, and he finally pulls away enough to manage a careful,

“Marco - ”

“Wanna top this time?”

The noise Jean lets out is slightly embarrassing, but Marco doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with pleading eyes, fingernails digging almost painfully into Jean’s shoulders. He’s biting his lip, looking invitingly eager, and Jean swallows thickly before getting out a soft, “Yeah. Okay.”

Marco gives a soft smile before leaning over and digging in his drawer for some lube and condoms, and when he tosses both items to Jean, the younger boy fumbles a bit with the items. Marco lets out a quiet chuckle, and Jean’s cheeks heat up in a blush.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, lifting his hips willingly so Marco can slide his boxers off.

“I didn’t say anything,” Marco replies, and then he’s crawling back up the bed, lying back next to Jean and spreading his legs. Jean feels heat creep up his neck again as he gets on his knees and shuffles until he’s sitting between Marco’s thighs, the boy’s dick already half-hard, and Jean lets himself reach out, wrap his fingers around the shaft before tugging it slowly until it’s fully erect.

Marco groans and rolls his hips up into Jean’s fist, hands clutching the sheets, and Jean uses this moment to tug his hand away in order to slick up both hands, and when he strokes Marco’s dick again, the slide is easier, and he simultaneously pushes a careful finger into his entrance. The sound Marco makes when Jean gets his finger up to the knuckle should be illegal, and he feels his dick twitch as he watches Marco’s face, already beginning to flush.

When Marco has finally relaxed around him, Jean proceeds to wiggle in a second finger, and Marco has finally starting panting quietly, rolling his hips down to meet Jean’s slow, careful thrusts, and _god_ , Jean doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more arousing. Marco’s dark hair is mussed up, a stark contrast against the white pillow, and his muscles are tensing as he bites his lip, fisting the sheets in his hands for something to grab onto.

“C’mon, please,” Marco rasps, and his voice is quiet, slightly hoarse, and Jean pulls his fingers out finally, fumbling to get the condom on because Marco is beginning to make quiet impatient noises that are going straight to Jean’s dick.

He hesitantly hooks his hands under Marco’s knees to lift them up, folding the boy in half, and when he slides in, Marco gasps wetly, fingers releasing their hold on the sheets in order to grab at Jean’s biceps, nails digging in sharply. Heat pools quickly in Jean’s abdomen, and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss against Marco’s mouth, and the boy pants against his lips, whining in a way that’s filthy and sweet at the same time.

Jean’s thrusts speed up slightly, and Marco breathes out a shaky breath before winding his arms around Jean’s neck, burying his face into his shoulder and making another quiet, desperate noise, and for a second, his voice cracks.

The mattress is squeaking quietly, and Jean’s breaths are coming out through his nose sharply as he mouths wetly along Marco’s outstretched throat. His knuckles are turning white where they’re gripping Marco’s knees, holding them up against the boy’s chest so he’s wide, open, folded in close as Jean fucks into him. It’s almost scarily intimate, but Marco’s hands keep clutching desperately against Jean’s shoulder blades, and Marco eyes are squeezed shut, body trembling, and when Jean hits Marco’s prostate, he cries out brokenly, curling up until he can press his face into Jean’s neck.

Jean slows his thrusts just a bit when he hears the teetering, stuttered breaths hot in his ears, because it doesn’t sound like the pleading, desperate gasps of someone getting fucked. It sounds like the hazy, wet, broken breaths of somebody about to _cry_. Emotional, hurried, on edge. Jean feels tendrils of worry creep up his spine, and when he slows his thrusts, the nails that rake down his back in protest make him gasp sharply.

“C’mon, _f-faster_ ,” Marco manages, the words thick and wet and that’s a good sign at least, Jean thinks, and he bites his lip, presses his lips against Marco’s temple, and thrusts in at that perfect fucking angle as hard as he can.

He’s _definitely_ not expecting the broken, pleading word that escapes Marco’s mouth around a filthy moan.

“ _Daddy_.”

It’s like a shock to his bloodstream, and his cheeks heat up when he hears Marco hitch a sharp breath, as if he didn't mean to say it at all, but Jean keeps fucking him, keeps driving into him until Marco is a mess, trembling beneath him. Jean hates to admit that that was one of the hottest fucking things he’s ever heard, and Jean wants Marco to pull back, wants to see his face right now, but Marco is latched onto his neck tightly, face still pressed into his neck, breath moist and shaky as it heats up his sweat-slicked skin.

Marco’s toes curl when Jean moves faster, rocking the headboard against the wall, and he manages a strained, “Gonna - _fuck_ , Jean I’m gonna come - _ah_.”

And Jean has no fucking idea what comes over him, what causes his mouth to open and let the words fall out almost unconsciously, but he finds himself pressing his lips against the shell of Marco’s ear, whispering,

“It’s okay, come for me.” Jean swallows thickly, biting at Marco’s earlobe. “Come for daddy.”

Marco’s back arches against the bed, and his whole body seems to convulse as he cries out loudly, coming untouched between their bodies, and Jean groans loudly when Marco tightens around him, the friction tight and hot and so fucking perfect. He follows suit pretty quickly, and Marco makes another broken noise, finally releasing his hold on Jean so he can lean back. Marco’s eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard it looks like it’s about to split, and Jean reaches up, cupping Marco’s face and running his thumbs over the swells of his cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jean whispers, and he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Marco’s mouth before reaching down to tie off the condom, tossing it into the trashbin next to the bedside table. When he crawls back up the mattress, Marco is half-sitting up, picking at his nails and looking terrifyingly small and scared.

“M’sorry,” Marco breathes, glancing up at Jean briefly, and his eyes are red rimmed and shiny.

“Hey,” Jean says again, lying down and pulling Marco against his side, “Don’t apologize.”

Marco’s lips press gently against Jean’s collarbone, and he curls up against Jean’s body. It’s so strange seeing him out of his element of outgoing boy-next-door simultaneously mixed with cocky sex god, but Jean is going to take care of him until Marco doesn’t feel the need to feel guilty about whatever it is he’s going through. Jean guesses it has something to do with his father.

“I never had a father figure,” Marco says suddenly, tracing random patterns along Jean’s chest. “I never really had a _father_. I only had a priest who called himself my dad. Some guy who lived in my house and just treated me as another person to be _preached to_. To be fixed. To be _cleansed_.”

His voice trembles, and when Jean feels a few warm droplets drip down his skin, a soft sniffle coming from the boy pressed against him, he doesn’t say anything.

“And I’m sorry for…. you know,” Marco whispers, making a small, embarrassed noise, and Jean realizes that he’s talking about the. Well. The thing he said. Earlier.

Jean feels his own cheeks heat up when he manages a quick, “No! It’s… it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

He feels horrible for thinking it was actually fucking _hot_ , because Marco is having this personal problem with it and god, Jean feels disgusting. He can’t help it though when his body heats up again, thinking about the way Marco sounded completely wrecked, “ _Daddy_ ,” slipping out in the most desperate way possible.

“If…,” Marco starts, sucking in a sharp, shaky breath. “If it’s okay, can I…. can I call you daddy when you fuck me?”

He sounds horribly embarrassed, but also insanely hopeful, and Jean almost hates himself for how quickly he responds,

“Yes! Yeah. Um. That’s cool, yeah.”

It’s this moment when Marco finally tilts his head up to look at him, and there’s a faint smirk on his face, like he knows what Jean’s thinking, and Jean groans and lets his head flop against the pillow because Marco’s going to give him hell for this later.

Marco chuckles softly, leans up to kiss Jean’s jaw. “Thank you.”

And strangely enough, Jean knows Marco’s not just saying ‘thank you’ for just that. The words are heavy and they settle warmly in his blood, and he reaches up after a few moments, presses his nose to Marco’s temple, and weaves a hand through his hair.


End file.
